


chasing pictures of the moon

by wild_once



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wild_once/pseuds/wild_once
Summary: Ok, so maybe Cas isn’t known for his successful charm offensives or charm in general, but he’s the treasurer of Prince’s Green HOA -- it’s practically his duty to welcome new residents to the neighbourhood, he reasons, and it has absolutely nothing to do with thousand-watt smiles, chiselled jaws or long bowlegs. Or anything like that.In which Cas has everything he needs and nothing he wants until Dean Winchester blows into town.(A suburbia AUveryloosely based on Tom Perrotta'sLittle Children.)
Relationships: Cain/Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. November

_November_

A week back in the neighbourhood and the soul-crushing and monotony of existence crashes over Cas like a wave. It’s November, but he’s still warmed down to the bones after two weeks on a tropical island. He spent the first week with his nose in his e-Reader and the second floating around on an inflatable half-cut waiting to get back on the plane home. 

He exists on two opposing planes: always itching to get away, always itching to come back. It’s a curse, he supposes, to have everything he needs and nothing he wants. Maybe it’s what he deserves. 

He’s had an unremarkable thirty years on earth; sometimes he thinks that if it weren’t for his husband Cain he would simply fade into the background until he became nothing at all. Until he simply ceased to exist. His friend Meg tells him he’s wrong, that he’s in a rut ( _welcome to your thirty life crisis, Cas_ ) -- he just needs to find a hobby, something he’s really passionate about (and maybe a job) -- and everything will fall into place.

What Cas doesn’t tell Meg is how he and Cain are ships in the night most of the time. They trade kind smiles in the morning and sweet kisses when they’re out with friends, but their feet don’t brush in bed and their hands don’t knock when they walk down the street. And it’s ok, Cas tells himself, really, it is because he has a roof over his head and zero pressure to do anything with his life but bring his kid niece to the park on Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

_Life is good_ and it’s Thursday. Cas sits with Meg in the park and watches Claire throw herself down the slide like the little maniac that she is. Their two friends Hannah and Hester chase after their unruly spawn with wet wipes. He sips his herbal tea and asks, ‘Anything new?’

Meg slides her Dior sunglasses down the delicate bridge of her nose and nods towards the playground. ‘Just him,’ she says. ‘Mister All-American Boy.’

Cas tightens his scarf against the November chill and shifts his eyes from Claire to a handsome stranger pushing a dirty-kneed little boy on a swing. ‘Who is he?’ 

‘No idea. He’s been bringing his kid here every day for two weeks.’ Meg pushes her glasses back up. ‘Hester’s obsessed with him. _Mr Prom King._ Hannah says he’s a kept man. His wife’s some big shot executive.’ 

'I’m a kept man,' Cas states matter-of-factly.

Meg’s eyes light up with mischievous glee. ‘Hey, that’s a good point. Ok, Mr Rogers.’ She pulls her wallet from her leather jacket. ‘I’ll give you twenty dollars if you get his name and,’ -- Meg fingers the wad of crisp bills -- 'two-hundred dollars if you get his number.'

Ok, so maybe Cas isn’t known for his successful charm offensives or _charm_ in general, but he’s the treasurer of Prince’s Green HOA -- it’s practically his duty to welcome new residents to the neighbourhood, he reasons, and it has absolutely nothing to do with thousand-watt smiles, chiselled jaws or long bowlegs. Or anything like that. 

He hands Meg his tea, and jogs from the bench to Claire, scooping her up from the ground. He almost feels bad for using her as an excuse to go to the swings, but it melts away when she smirks the lopsided smirk she’s inherited from him (much to his sister’s disdain). 

The man smiles as they approach, eyes meeting Cas’ with something like gratitude. Maybe he senses his discomfort. Or maybe he’s just another person like Cas looking for a connection amongst the simmering chaos of a _Top 5 Best Places To Live in Illinois_ neighbourhood. 

Up close, there’s no denying it: he’s beautiful. He has a timeless quality about him, reserved for those who could have sat for Caravaggio as easily as they could have Annie Leibovitz. It takes all of Cas’ might and more to pull his eyes away from how charming the way the man’s cheeks, all dusted with freckles, are pink from the chill, and how the tendons in his hands shift under his skin as he pushes the little boy higher on the swing. 

Cas says _hello_ as he plops Claire down on the swing. Exhales and waits.

'Hey,' the man says and then he waves at Claire and smiles. Then he looks to Cas expectantly.

'Let me get right to the point,' Cas says, pushing Claire gently. 'The coven by the bench -- _don’t look_ \-- offered me two-hundred dollars if I could get your phone number. I figure we can split it if you’re amenable.’ He takes a breath and hastily adds, ‘Doesn’t have to be your actual phone number, they’ll never know...' 

The man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 'Two-hundred bucks? Really?' 

Cas shrugs. 'It’s a pretty lowball offer, to be honest; I should have asked them to double it.' 

'Better than a kick in the teeth.' He holds his hand out. 'Dean.'

Cas reaches over to grip Dean’s hand. His hands are softer than Cas assumed they’d be, but his knuckles are bruised and scabbed. 'Castiel. Cas.'

Dean releases his hand. 'Come here often, Cas?'

'Yes, usually.' Cas motions to his tanned face. 'I’ve been on vacation.’

'Lucky you. We’ve been coming here for two weeks and all they do is stare.'

'You’re the leading man in most of their fantasies.' Cas turns back to push Claire higher. 'They call you _The Prom King_.' 

In the distance, Meg sucks on a cigarette and waves a stack of bills pinched between her fingers. Hannah and Hester wave their hands around dramatically to dispel the acrid cloud engulfing them but their eyes are fixed on Cas.

'Hell, there are worse things to be called, I guess.' Dean leans in conspiratorially. His voice rumbles deeply between them when he says, 'But the joke’s on them, Cas -- I didn’t go to prom.' 

'Let’s keep that between us,' Cas whispers, 'I don’t want to ruin their fantasy.' Claire starts to twist and bend on her swing, threatening to pitch forward and take off. Cas grabs the chains and stills her, saying, _'_ Nope' -- and then, bending down to meet her eyes -- 'You are absolutely not jumping off this swing again, Claire. Flying is for angels and Superman only.'

'Hear that Ben?' Dean shakes his head. 'This kid is a daredevil, man,' he states, turning to Cas. 'It scares the crap out of me. I can’t take my eyes off of him for a second.'

Cas is readying a reply, something about knowing what Dean means (when really, he doesn’t at all -- Clarie’s a two days a week for eight hours a day kind of kid and not a permanent fixture in his home) when Dean digs a pen out from his inside pocket and grabs Cas' wrist. 'This’ll give ‘em something to write home about,' he says, pulling the cap of the pen off with his teeth and settling it in the corner of his mouth. He turns Cas' hand over and starts to scrawl his phone number across the tender flesh of his palm. 

Cas doesn’t know why he lets Dean handle him in such a familiar way. He curses himself when he gasps at the feeling of Dean’s hand encircling his wrist, questioning why he doesn’t snatch his hand back and tell Dean this isn’t part of his plan; they don’t need to put on a show for Meg’s benefit. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Just watches, transfixed, as the nib of the pen indents the smooth skin of his palm, branding him without permission or apology.

Dean caps the pen and pulls it out of his mouth with an exaggerated pop. 'We gotta get going. Mom’s coming back from her trip today.' He hoists Ben from the swing and sits him on his shoulders. 'Say bye to Cas and Claire, Ben.'

Cas looks up from his palm in time to see the last shake of Ben’s hand before he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. 'I’ll, um, call you about the money?'

Dean shrugs, bouncing Ben a little higher on his shoulders. 'Yeah, whatever," he says. 'Thanks for the weird welcome. I’ll see you around.'

*

Cain doesn’t ask about the fading numbers etched on Cas’ skin or why Cas forgets to pack his suitcase like he always does when Cain has to go away for work. He doesn’t ask much of anything.

It takes four days for Cas to scrub the ink from his palm. He doesn’t call. On Wednesday, Cas drives Cain to the airport and waves him off from the drivers’ seat. He takes a detour on the way home and stops for a burger. He orders it with extra cheese and a side of chilli-fries and eats it behind the wheel. 

On Thursday, and much to his dismay, he chairs the bi-monthly HOA meeting alone. Cain has left him extensive notes, illegible in only a way surgeons can achieve and for the millionth time, Cas wonders how Cain can stitch blood vessels back together with his eyes closed but can’t manage to write in a straight line. Irritation flares in his temples as he squints at his husband’s sprawling and looping cursive. The scraping of chairs being rearranged bangs around in his head, distant and hollow.

When Cas looks up from his agenda he sees Meg sitting up front as per usual. She’s a gun for hire during these meetings, ready to flip flop between whatever issue will spark the biggest fire. He sets his jaw and shakes his head at her. She winks and blows him a kiss.

Cas looks down and clears his throat in an attempt to quell the lively conversation amongst the residents, and then again when they make no move to simmer down. ‘Let’s bring this meeting to order everyone…’ he starts, but his voice trails off when he spots Dean sprawled across a chair on the back row. Next to him, a woman holds a sleeping child who Cas can only assume is Ben. 

‘Guys!’ Dean booms. A few of the elderly residents gasp and shake their heads. ‘You wanna start this meeting or not? The game’s on at eight, c’mon.’

The woman next to him shakes her head and bites her lip to will away a giggle. Dean crosses his arms and relaxes into his chair. 

Cas shuffles the papers in front of him. ‘Thank you, Mister…’

‘Winchester.’

‘Thank you, Mr Winchester.’ Cas darts his eyes away and scans the crowd. 'And thank you, everyone, for coming, November sessions are always the busiest and this year is no exception.’ He flips through his agenda points quickly, choosing to get the most difficult one out of the way first. ‘Let’s start with this years’ restrictions on exterior Christmas decorations…’

The rest of the meeting goes well -- Cas runs through his points and barely anyone grumbles about the ban on artificial snow or the slight increase in fees for the next year. Of course, Cas rearranged the agenda and delivered the bad news after announcing that his and Cain’s Christmas Party would be bigger and better than ever this year. 

Meeting over, Cas waves goodbye to the last stragglers of the evening -- Mr and Mrs Crane; in the seventies, still deeply in love and perpetually concerned about the boy next door who owns a motorbike -- but his mind is wandering to the stretch of the evening ahead of him. He tucks his folder under his arm and pulls the doors of the church shut with an almighty bang. He's toying with the lock when a piercing whistle has him fumbling the keys in shock. 

In the distance, not far at all, he sees Dean Winchester leaning against a pristine muscle car. 

'Cas, what are you doing?'

'I’m going… home?' Cas answers cautiously, pocketing the keys. 

'Nah, c’mon.' Dean beckons him with a jerky wave. 'I meant it when I said the game’s on at eight.'

Cas looks around again. Confused. 'What? I don’t watch… _the game_.'

'Neither do I but drinks are half-price until ten.' Dean pushes off his car and walks towards Cas lazily with his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. 'And I know you’ve got at least two hundred bucks waiting to be spent.'

Cas hesitates, looking from the paperwork in his hands to Dean’s shadowy figure, obscured and backlit by the moon. Dean approaches with practised laziness, clouded by the fog of his breath in the frigid evening air. As he nears, Cas can see how tips the pinks of his ears are, and how the light from the streetlamps glints off his eyes, starry and urgent. 

Dean lifts the papers from Cas' hands without any resistance at all. 'Lots of room for your paperwork in the trunk.' He pulls his car keys out from his jeans and jangles them. 'It even locks.'

Dean turns and Cas follows, still cautious of the man he’s met once, and knows nothing about, inviting him to a bar. 'You know,' he says, 'renters aren’t permitted to join residents meetings…'

Dean opens the trunk and throws the papers in without ceremony and slams it shut. 'Well, you let us stay so I guess we’ll both have to keep it quiet.' He hurries to his driver-side door and wrenches it open.

'Dean --' Cas starts.

'Cas, don’t overthink it, man,' Dean interrupts. 'It’s a Thursday night, there’s half-priced drinks waiting a half-hour ride away, and you owe me a hundred bucks. That’s all.' 

Dean slams the door. The car rumbles to life and Cas tells himself there’s nothing else to do but follow.

*

Dean is a whirlwind, and Cas is swept up in him. Within forty minutes of tearing out of the parking lot, Cas has been led into a bar, introduced to three people ( _Vic, Charlie and Benny_ ) , warned off another ( _He’s a dick_ , Dean had said, _I’d trust a blind pilot flying a 747 more than that guy)_ , had a beer ordered and slammed down in front of him and been roped into taking Dean on at pool ( _you have to, you have to - it's a rite of passage)_. 

Cas gulps the last of his beer as Dean racks up the balls on the table. He sets his empty glass down and tries to decide on a cue from the motley assortment in the rack. Vic and Benny are engrossed in a video on Benny’s phone. Cas isn’t sure what they’re watching but he can guess by the way Vic claps a hand over his mouth as Benny nudges him repeatedly with his elbow that Benny will delete it before he goes home.

Charle sidles up next to the rack and leans against the wall. 'It doesn’t matter which one you choose,' she warns, 'he’s gonna wipe the floor with you. He’s like, some sort of pool Jedi.'

'Is he,' Cas replies flatly. He plucks a cue that looks like it’s been gnawed on and holds it out to assess its length and weight. He looks over to see Dean making a show of chalking his cue. He holds it out dramatically, as a knight might hold his sword to check the blade, and then nods to himself. 

Charlie claps Cas on the shoulder. 'I’ll get you another beer. You’re gonna need it.' He thanks her as she steps away and turns back to the table. 

'Wanna break?' Dean asks. Cas nods and chalks his cue. Dean steps away from the table to lean next to Vic and Benny. 

Cas cradles the cue in the crook of his elbow and rolls up his sleeves, and then it’s time for his flourish of showmanship: he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it and plucks two hundred dollar bills from the fold and places them on the table. He shoves the wallet in his back pocket and Vic and Benny whistle at the folded bills begging to be pocketed. When Cas glances at Dean, he’s shaking his head and tonguing the corner of his mouth. 

And then Cas breaks and pockets ball after ball while Benny and Vic howl with laughter. Dean calls him a _son of a bitch_ at least twice, and Charlie ends up giving him Cas’ beer instead. 

*

'You hustled me,' Dean slurs, maybe hours later, after everyone has worn themselves out from teasing Dean and congratulating Cas. 'No one hustles me. Not ever. What the fuck.'

'I did not,' Cas protests. He lifts his tumbler of whisky to his mouth and misses. He frowns as he hits the corner of his lip and slowly shifts it into place to sip from it. 'You don’t know anything about me. I could be a world pool champion for all you know.' 

'No, but seriously -- what the fuck? How?'

'That’s a story for another day.' Cas feels brave all of the sudden, so he asks, 'Why did you even wait around for me tonight?'

Dean downs the last of his whisky and pours them each another because, apparently, ordering whole bottles of whisky is something Cas does now. 'I saw your picture on the neighbourhood noticeboard and I was at a loose end.' Dean downs his whisky in one. Cas watches the tendons in his jaw flex as he grits his teeth against the burn. 

Things are getting warm and close. Dean leans his weight against him, familiar and assuming, and Cas' suddenly stupid with tiredness. He rubs his hand over his face to try and wake up. He settles on resting his head in his palm rather than crashing face down on the tacky table. 'It’s hard to believe someone like you doesn’t have anything better to do on a Thursday night,' he says, and lifts his head and tries to tip more whisky into his mouth. 

'Someone like me.' Dean reaches over and taps the gold ring on Cas' finger. 'What about you? You’re married, and you have a kid.' He toys with the ring, shifting it against Cas’ skin. The gold has stretched with age, and it spins effortlessly against Cas’ finger. ‘Why didn’t you go home with them instead?’

'Niece.'

'What?'

'Claire’s my niece.' Cas finds the strength to down his drink. He puts his glass down unsteadily and covers the top with his hand, cutting himself off. 'Cain, my husband,' -- he searches Dean’s face for a reaction before continuing, but Dean is disarmingly neutral -- 'didn’t -- _doesn't’_ \-- want children so we never…' Cas shrugs. 

'And you?'

'I give the best parts of myself to Claire two days a week between the hours of eight a.m. and six p.m.'

Dean bats Cas’ hand off the top of his glass and pours him another drink. 'That’s not really an answer, dude.'

'It’s the only one I have, Dean. What about you; why didn’t you go home with your wife and child?' Cas asks. Dean hesitates and raises his glass to his mouth to trap and drown a half-formed reply before it can escape. Shakes his head. The warmth in Cas' face is at fever pitch. He runs his fingers through his hair and rubs his forehead, says, 'I need to go home.'

'I’ll drive you.' Dean pats his pockets and pulls out his car keys. 

Cas drops off his barstool and steadies himself against the table. 'There’s no way,' he slurs, 'I’ll call us a cab.' He secures his scarf loosely and slips his coat on, while Dean struggles to force his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket. He misses at least twice and roughly flips his collar in irritation after he finally gets it on. 'Drive me home… you can’t even put your jacket on.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Dean mutters. He grabs the bottle of whiskey in one hand, and Cas' sleeve in his other and starts to tug him towards the door. 'Gotta get your papers,' he says by way of explanation, 'and sober you up.'

Cas can’t argue with that. Not really. Not when Dean is manhandling from the bar to his Impala in a way that makes Cas feel like he’s outside of his body, wondering how the hell he’s suddenly ended up in the passenger seat of Dean’s car again. The leather upholstery is rigid and freezing even through the thick material of his jeans. He slumps against the door and rests his face against the window to cool his flushed cheeks.

Dean shifts in the driver seat, trying to find a comfortable way to crumple his body. 'Give me thirty minutes, Cas,' he says quietly, 'and I’ll be sober as a judge and ready to roll.'

Cas' head is swimming. He slumps against the door, rests his face against the window to cool his flushed cheeks and closes his eyes.

The next time he opens them it’s three a.m. and he’s shaking so violently that he’s developed a cramp in his thigh. He jolts in his seat, numb and lazy, and reaches to shake Dean alive. 

Dean wakes with a start, arms darting out, ready to fight. 

'Dean, we fell asleep.' Cas' teeth are chattering. 'I think I have frostbite.'

Dean yawns and scrubs his face. 'You don’t have frostbite, princess.' He fumbles for his keys, misses three times trying to stick them in the ignition, but finally gets the car started. Air rushes from the vents. 'C’mon, Baby,' he coos and rests his forehead against the steering wheel. 'Warm us up.'

Cas curls into himself and groans. 'I feel terrible.'

Dean’s head snaps up, his eyes moony-wide, and frantically asks, 'You’re not going to hurl in my car, are you?' Cas shakes his head. Dean puts the car in gear and eases it from its parking space. 'I’ll go slow,' he says, 'but if you even get a tickle tell me so I can pull over.'

Cas groans in response and buries himself as far into his coat as he can go. 

True to his word, Dean goes slow and steady all the way home. The roads are blessedly quiet, and when they roll up to the curb beside Cas' house his stomach has settled and his head no longer feels like it’s about to split. He’s still hammered, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to wake up drunk with the morning sun, but at least his bed is minutes away. 

He opens the door and lets the cold air rush in. Cas is about to thank him when Dean says, 'Hey, big ask but… can I leave my Baby in your driveway for the night? It’s just… she always wakes up the kid and he’s not been sleeping good as is.'

Cas stares at him dumbly. 'You want to park your car in my driveway?' 

'If that’s ok… I mean, I can leave her on the street if it’s a problem?' 

Maybe it’s the whiskey, or maybe it’s the look in Dean’s eyes or, hell, maybe it’s just because this has been the most exciting night in… well, forever. Cas has one foot out of the door, but he pulls it back in and shuts it and says, 'Of course. That’s fine.'

It’s amazing that Dean can back her in so gracefully when he could barely get his jacket on just hours before. It’s almost unfair, Cas thinks, how effortlessly graceful he is for someone so rough around the edges.

Cas steps out of the car and grabs his keys from the inside of his coat. He makes his way to the front door and suddenly becomes aware that Dean isn’t behind him. He turns to see him heading in the opposite direction, down towards the street and into the night. He hops down the stairs to follow, grateful that Cain salted the steps before he left.

The crunch of his shoes on the salt gets Dean’s attention and he turns and says, 'I’ll move her as soon as I wake up.'

'Where are you going?' 

Dean stands, dumbfounded and slack with his hands stuffed into his pockets. 'Home. It’s like a ten minute walk.'

'Just sleep it off here.' Cas suggests it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The moment the sentence leaves his mouth and hangs in the air he regrets it. They’re friendly strangers, that’s all, what the fuck is he thinking letting Dean park his car in the driveway overnight and offering Dean a bed and --

But then Dean shrugs and says _ok_ and -- oh, maybe it really is that easy. 

When they’re at the door -- Cas fighting the lock and Dean shifting impatiently next to him from the bite of the air -- he says, 'Hey, Cas? Don’t murder me in my sleep or anything, ok?' and all Cas can do is laugh and say _I promise_ as he tries to fit his key in the lock.


	2. Early December

_ Early December _

Cas messages. Dean always replies, and he’s always where he says he’ll be when he says he’ll be there. 

He’s the most reliable thing in Cas’ life and it scares him how little he knows about the man who shoves money into his hand for drinks and pushes him into the middle of crowded bars and steals the fries right off of his plate. 

It takes three separate matches for Cas to beat Dean at pool again, but he finally manages to scrape a win sometime in early December. They’re the most unlikely of friends and they cause a stir every time they meet by the playground. Dean brings homemade snack bars that are more chocolate than anything else and Cas brings a different blend of coffee every time they meet. 

They bond over the unsaid. Their world is a creation all of its own: no kids, no family, no troubles at all. Just Dean’s passion for music and Cas’ unwavering desire to learn all that he doesn’t know. Maybe they don’t know each other at all, or maybe they’re the purest version of themselves when they’re together. Either way, it works, and more often than not Cas finds himself looking for any excuse to message Dean all the mundane details of his day when they’re not together.

It’s a usual Tuesday in the park. Ben and Claire are left to their own devices while Dean and Cas enjoy the peace. Out of nowhere, Dean asks -- ‘I’ve been wondering… how did you beat me at pool  _ twice _ ?’

Cas laughs and sips his coffee. ‘Why? Have you finally accepted that you lost? Twice?’

‘No,’ Dean says, ‘just trying to work out how you cheated.’

‘Maybe I should admit to it… for the sake of your ego, that is.’ Dean opens his mouth to protest. Cas jumps in. ‘I’m the youngest of four by ten years and my three siblings are triplets. We had a pool table and I had a lot of time to teach myself.’

‘Triplets? Jesus. They as good as you? You could start a league.’

‘Maybe one day.’ Cas grimaces as Claire jumps in the slushiest puddle she can find. ‘My brothers and I have no interest in speaking to one another... and I’m pretty sure my sister isn’t going to speak to me again after today --  _ Claire! _ Stop!’

‘Your parents ok with that?’

‘You’d have to ask them. I haven’t spoken to them for over ten years.’

Cas leaves it there. They don’t do this -- talk about times before they met. What they were like as children or how popular they were in high school. Cas’ family are no picnic, and he has a hunch from Dean’s silence, and the sullen and contemplative look on his face, that he has a similar sad story to tell. 

Eventually, Dean shifts on the bench and turns his body to Cas. ‘What would you say,’ he starts, pulling at a loose thread on his soft worn jeans, ‘if I told you that I would move heaven and earth to speak to my brother again?’

Cas doesn’t hesitate. ‘I would tell you that you’re lucky to love someone enough to make that sacrifice.’ 

Dean’s reply hangs in the air, forgotten when Claire bursts into tears and runs over with skinned palms. Dean grabs the coffee from Cas’ hand instinctively so Cas can open his arms and pull her close when she falls into them. He wraps his arms around her and rocks her side to side. Kisses the top of her head to quiet her, something his mother would always do when he was a child. 'Just a little scratch,' he says softly. 'Nothing to worry about.'

'Promise?' Claire sniffs into Cas’ coat. She pulls away, hair sticking to her wet face where it’s escaped her hat.

Cas tucks her hair back in place and wipes her cheeks. Her jeans are wet where she’s fallen, and Cas brushes away the few bits of stubborn slush that refuse to melt. 'Promise,' he says. He reaches into his pockets for some wet wipes and cleans up her hands with expert precision, soothing her and letting Ben help after he ambles over, quiet and concerned. Cas wipes the tears from Claire’s cheeks and Ben throws away the used wipe without being asked. 

Once she’s cleaned up it’s as if nothing ever happened. She and Ben tear off to climb the freezing monkey bars. Cas rubs his forehead -- half in frustration, half in worry -- and says, ‘Sorry, what were you going to say?’ as he turns to Dean to retrieve his coffee.

Dean is staring at him. Has  _ been _ staring at him. His lip is crooked at the side, and his features are set more softly than Cas has ever seen them. Dean hands Cas his coffee, and Cas thanks him with a nod. Cas is the first to look away -- back to the kids to make sure they’re behaving, he rationalises, and not because of the way his breath is catching in his throat -- but he can still feel Dean’s eyes on him. 

  
  


*

Cas doesn’t see Dean for a week. He messages and only gets one cagey reply --  _ something came up _ . 

His absence shakes Cas’ routine and dread starts to settle in his stomach like silt on a riverbed. 

Eventually, it’s Meg that texts him to tell him that Dean has turned up at the playground with a busted lip, and Cas nearly falls over himself racing out the door. 

If he’s out of breath when he reaches him he hides it well. He whistles over the fence to Dean and holds his hands out as if to say  _ what the fuck _ . Dean lets Ben know where he’s going and saunters over as if he has all the time in the world. 

‘Where have you been?’ Cas grips the iron fence and leans into it. He narrows his eyes. ‘And what happened to your lip?’ 

‘Had a fight with a door.’ 

Cas cocks his head, bewildered. ‘You had a fight. With a door.’

Dean shrugs in that way that infuriates Cas more than it should and says, ‘Yeah. Mean sucker; slammed right in my face when I was least expecting it.’

‘Fine,’ Cas replies. Dean relaxes slightly. ‘I was worried about you.’

‘Well, don’t,’ Dean snaps. He bites at a hangnail on his thumb. ‘Let me make it up to you. Let’s go out later.’

‘Dean, I’m really not in the mood to shoot pool --’

‘Then we’ll do something else. C’mon, I feel like an asshole.’ 

Cas knows he’s being played. It’s so gentle and so natural -- he wonders if Dean even knows he’s doing it. Cas straightens his spine and looks him right in the eyes when he says, ‘That’s because you _ are _ an asshole, Dean.’ 

Dean throws his head back and laughs. ‘Yeah,’ he agrees, ‘but I’m adorable.’

Cas shakes his head, bites his lip to keep  _ yeah, you are _ inside. ‘Pick me up at seven,’ he says instead.

*

Cas takes a shower at six p.m. and dresses slowly. Methodically. He changes his shirt three times, opting for a soft roll neck he hasn’t worn in years. 

He knocks on Cain’s office at six-thirty and smiles when he sticks his head around the door. He looks up from behind the screen of his laptop quickly and says, ‘You look nice.’ 

Cas runs his hand down the soft fabric of his top self-consciously.  ‘Dean will be here soon. I might be out late.'

Cain nods from behind his computer and replies, ‘I have to be up at five on the road by six tomorrow. Do you mind sleeping in the guest room if you’re coming home late?’

And that’s all. Cas says  _ sure _ and closes the door with a soft snick. 

He texts Dean to say  _ I’m ready now if you are _ and  Dean replies  _ be there in 5 _ within seconds. 

*

‘Where does Cain think you go when you’re out with me?’

Frowning, Cas looks up from his stack of ribs and licks sauce off his fingers. ‘Where does Lisa think  _ you _ go when you’re out with me?’ He sucks on his thumbs and pulls it out with a pop. ‘I’m allowed to have friends, Dean.’

‘Even ones as good looking as me?’

‘Even ones better looking than you.’ 

Dean drops his burger and steals some of Cas’ fries. ‘Nah but seriously, man — he doesn’t get jealous?’ When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean motions to himself and says around a mouthful of food, ‘Because you’re, y’know. And I’m —‘

Cas takes a sip of his drink and narrows his eyes. ‘I’m what?’ When Dean doesn’t offer anything up, Cas says, ‘You can say it, Dean. You’re allowed.’

Dean leans in slightly and grabs a few more fries. ‘Gay,’ he says quietly and looking at a point somewhere past Cas’ left shoulder.

Cas ducks his head to catch Dean’s eyes. ‘You don’t have to lower your voice. It’s a statement of fact.’ Cas leans back in the booth and relaxes against the cracked pleather. ‘And to answer your original question: no. Cain doesn’t get much of anything at all these days. I think he’s just happy to see me happy for a change. Anyway, we’ve been together a lifetime, so —‘

‘I make you happy?’ Cas shrugs in reply, and Dean turns the mood instantly by saying, ‘You gotta be one helluva sad-sack if that’s true.’

‘Maybe I am.’ Cas leans across the table and plucks an onion ring from Dean’s plate. ‘You didn’t answer my question, by the way. Where does Lisa think you go when you’re out with me?’

Dean wipes his fingers on a napkin nearly translucent with grease. ‘She knows where I am. She, uh… she was the one who suggested I invite you out.’ Even though he’s not surprised, it stings knowing that someone else planted the idea in Dean’s head. When Cas doesn’t reply, Dean hastily adds, ‘Not that I didn’t want to, I just… I don’t usually have a lot in common with guys who think two-hundred dollars is a  _ lowball offer _ .’

The grease between Cas’ pinched fingers has cooled. The onion ring hasn’t reached his mouth. He sets it down and wipes his hands on a napkin. ‘Dean,’ he starts, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I made you feel --’ 

‘Forget it.’ Dean waves him off. ‘Gimme a rib; let’s see if they’re as good as they’re cracked up to be’

And so it goes. The conversation is comfortable. He doesn’t ask about the yellowing bruise on Dean’s cracked lip, even he can’t stop thinking about it, especially as Dean insists on tonguing the wound throughout the night and winces every time he wipes his mouth. Dean alludes to formalising his love of repairing cars and electronics with some sort of certification (though he never divulges why he hasn’t done this already) once Ben starts kindergarten. Cas’ heart does this weird half-stutter when he realises Dean’s going to be sticking around for a while and he misses a chunk of the conversation daydreaming about a thousand more nights out like this one. 

Before Cas knows it, it’s nine o’clock. Dean waves down their server and knocks Cas’ hand out of the way with a  _ don’t even think about it  _ before he can pull his wallet out. Cas really doesn’t want to go home, but Dean has an early appointment, so he drops Cas off by ten.

Outside his house, Cas hesitates before he exits the Impala. He turns to Dean and, with all his courage summoned, says, ‘I just want you to know that… if there’s ever anything you need to talk about I’m here to listen. Without judgement. You’re a good person, Dean, and I feel lucky to call you my friend.’ 

He doesn’t wait for Dean to reply. He says goodnight and, even though Cain is still working away in his office, Cas sleeps alone in the guestroom. 


End file.
